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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26146864">without her the world around me changes (and so do i)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingardiumleviosa111/pseuds/wingardiumleviosa111'>wingardiumleviosa111</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wynonna Earp (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:28:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,268</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26146864</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingardiumleviosa111/pseuds/wingardiumleviosa111</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s only after she gets home from the hospital does she realize that Waverly’s not there to dote, to cover her in too many blankets, and help her shower around the bulky cast on her leg.</p>
<p>or</p>
<p>five times nicole feels alone and one time she doesn't</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Nicole Haught &amp; Rachel Valdez (Wynonna Earp TV), Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught, Wynonna Earp &amp; Nicole Haught</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>262</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>without her the world around me changes (and so do i)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>1.</p>
<p>It’s hard to remember how they escape from the lab. She can feel the boom of their explosives and the searing pain that raced through her when she put weight on her leg, but she doesn’t know how they got out, to the truck, to the road. Wynonna made it through the portal and that’s all that matters. </p>
<p>Rachel wanted to drive, worried about the bones in her left leg, but she’s not about to trust a seventeen year old to deliver the car safely back to the Homestead. It’s not the best truck in the world but it’s the Earps’ and she promised Wynonna she would be waiting for her, truck and all, damn it, and she’s going to be in <em> so </em> much trouble if they come back to a fender bender. </p>
<p>Besides, her right foot on the gas pedal is perfectly fine thank you very much. </p>
<p>Ten minutes have passed since their mindless chatter has dropped off and the silence in the car sits heavy and loud in her ears, the road empty but for a few tumbleweeds. Rachel thankfully doesn’t comment when she flips the radio on and the soft twang of a country singer crooning about his high school sweetheart takes the pressure off her shoulders, fingers tapping against the steering wheel. </p>
<p>It’s quiet for another few minutes and she wonders if Rachel hates her. They lied and tied her up and held a gun to her head so she wouldn’t blame her even though it <em> was </em>mostly Wynonna. </p>
<p>When Rachel does speak, it’s surprising.</p>
<p>“Are you really polygamists?” Rachel hesitates from the passenger seat. </p>
<p>It’s so bizarre and out of nowhere that it makes her laugh around the ache in her shin and for that, she’s grateful.</p>
<p>“Wynonna’s my best friend,” she offers and she hasn’t had a best friend in <em> years. </em>Her chest blooms with the realization that maybe Wynonna hasn’t either judging from the way she reacted. </p>
<p>“Best friends can be polyamorous,” Rachel raises an eyebrow. </p>
<p>She snorts. Gross. </p>
<p>“No, she’s more like my sister-in-law. Ish.”</p>
<p>“Ish? I don’t think someone can be your sister-in-law<em>ish </em>.” Rachel crosses her arms and it reminds her so much of Waverly, bossy and astute and so no-nonsense, that she almost slams on the brakes at the idea of a young Waverly sitting in her car and kissing her after football games.</p>
<p>“I’m in love with her sister, Waverly.” It’s sweet on her tongue and she doesn’t even realize she’s smiling around the curve of her girlfriend’s name until Rachel prods her out of it, unimpressed and clearly looking for more. “I’m going to marry her soon but it hasn’t happened yet, hence the <em> ish</em>.”</p>
<p>“Ah,” Rachel grimaces like a teenager but she sounds relieved that she isn’t stepping into a weird love triangle a la Twilight. “So not a throuple then.” </p>
<p>She chuckles again and watches the landscape pass by in waves of nothingness. “No, definitely not.”</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>It’s only after she gets home from the hospital does she realize that Waverly’s not there to dote, to cover her in too many blankets, and help her shower around the bulky cast on her leg. She makes it as far as the landing on the stairs before she gives up and collapses on the couch. <em> She’ll be here soon</em>, she thinks and smiles at the lecture she knows Waverly will give her for sleeping here and messing up her back. </p>
<p>She smells like gunpowder and sweat and the sweet, cloying scent of death that she wishes were more foreign than it is, but she doesn’t have it in her to get up, already drowsy with pain medication. The pillow she’s cuddling smells like home and she drifts off to Rachel’s clattering in the kitchen.</p>
<p>Her friends still aren’t back when the sound of crying wakes her up and she realizes that she has a grieving teenager who has lost everything she’s ever known in the next room over. </p>
<p>Rachel lets herself be held in Wynonna’s bedroom and then, after a strong cup of tea, tells her about her mom in stuttering heavy words.<em> A doctor, </em> she says, <em>who taught me to take on the world.</em> </p>
<p>She dries her tears and asks questions and it never occurs to her to tell Rachel about her own family who filled her quiet life with love, because they’re not <em> really </em>gone, just away for a little. </p>
<p>Besides, they’ll be back tomorrow or the next day and Rachel can just meet them herself. </p>
<p>---</p>
<p>Two weeks later, Rachel asks what she’s doing and she looks down to see the pen in her hand, aimlessly drawing dicks into the plaster of her cast and her heart clenches hard enough to lose her breath. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>2.</p>
<p>She spends her free time after the election reorganizing Waverly’s closet. </p>
<p><em> Faux fur. Flirty florals. Feminine flannels. </em> </p>
<p>The town is falling apart around them and she won’t let the Homestead go the same way. </p>
<p><em> Faux fur. Flirty florals. Feminine flannels. </em> </p>
<p>There are rumors that supply trucks are being cut off and Jeremy hasn’t answered her calls in weeks and she blows out a candle on Waverly’s birthday sitting alone in the kitchen. </p>
<p><em> Faux fur. Flirty florals. Feminine flannels. </em> </p>
<p>Rachel doesn’t disturb her cleaning and disappears for hours on end, sometimes coming back with an odd mug to offer and a full backpack that clinks. She never asks what’s in it but accepts the bills pressed into her palm, the carton of eggs in the fridge. As much as she hates accepting charity from a seventeen year old, she doesn’t have a job. </p>
<p>Most nights, she collapses exhausted into bed, clutching Waverly's sweatshirt to her chest. She doesn’t rest, per se, as evidenced by the deep circles under her eyes, and she spends most nights drifting in and out of her old nightmares only to wake up to her new one. </p>
<p>It’s no surprise that she can’t sleep tonight after months of restlessness. Their room has long since stopped carrying Waverly’s scent and the end of autumn has turned into an Indian summer, abnormally hot and dry for Purgatory. Maybe her insomnia is due to the heat or the fact that Peacemaker is nowhere to be found or any of the other twenty reasons she tosses and turns through every night. </p>
<p>It’s pitch dark out by the time she gives up trying, so late that it’s actually early, and she’s reminded of another world, ages ago, when she had come home from a graveyard shift at the station to find Waverly waiting patiently in nothing but lingerie. Really, really hot lingerie that she didn’t take off, just pulled to the side and let Waverly ride her fingers. </p>
<p>The sudden heat that streaks through her at the image is white hot and burning, curling low in her stomach. </p>
<p><em> Waverly had cried out, breathy and moaning as she built her up two, and then three times. </em> </p>
<p>She shudders, her mouth suddenly dry. </p>
<p>It should feel wrong, when Waverly isn’t here to help her over the edge but she’s so damn tired of not sleeping that she lets her hand drift under the waistband of her sleep shorts. It’s been too long since she’s last been touched and the heat, molten hot between her legs, aches.</p>
<p>She groans into the sheets at the added memory of Waverly crawling down her body after, flushed and heaving, to settle in between her thighs. She’s soaked at the thought of it, reaching down to slide through her own folds. It leaves her heady and she can’t help but start a slow grind against the pad of one fingertip.</p>
<p><em> When did she even take off her clothes? It wasn’t high on her list of priorities to find out, though, not with the way Waverly was teasing her, laving kisses on the inside of her thighs for what felt like hours until she had to fist hands in hair and pull. </em> </p>
<p><em> Waverly laughed, a vibrating hum against her clit, and gave in, pressing two fingers in at the same time that she started to taste in broad strokes. </em> </p>
<p>She tries to replicate it as much as she can, adding one and then another finger, stretching and filling in a toe curling pleasure, and reaching up to thumb at her clit clumsily. It’s easier to pretend it’s not her own fingers if she closes her eyes, as if it were Waverly causing her walls to clench. It’s enough to make her hips buck, bed creaking softly underneath her and the pressure builds hard and fast in her center. </p>
<p><em> “I need you,” she gasped and Waverly had smoothed her free hand over the expanse of bare, soft skin. </em> </p>
<p><em> “I know, baby,” Waverly pulled away to speak, ignoring her grunt of displeasure, and rose up to draw her into a deep kiss that took some of the edge off despite the fact that Waverly was still buried inside her. </em> </p>
<p><em> “Let me take care of you,” Waverly had whispered against her lips before descending again, nipping at the column of her neck and the curve of her breast on the way down. This time, Waverly doesn’t hesitate, sucking hard on her clit, and it makes her back bow off the mattress. </em> </p>
<p>Her mouth falls open as she pumps her own hand and shakes and thinks about the way Waverly had looked up, eyes lidded and dark, and watched her fall apart. </p>
<p>She swears she can feel Waverly pressed close in the hovering plateau before coming undone. For one blissful moment, Waverly is in her ear, coaxing her higher with a <em>“come for me,"</em> and it’s what sends her hurtling over the edge.</p>
<p>When she comes, it’s with Waverly’s name on her lips and an empty room to greet her and she suddenly feels so wholly alone in the aftermath that she thinks she might throw up. </p>
<p>She rolls over, wipes away the evidence of her arousal on the sheets, and presses her nose into the pillow on the other side of the bed, aching for <em> some </em> part of her girlfriend. Nothing has her fragrance anymore and she wonders, her body still wracked with tremors, when she forgot what Waverly smelled like.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>3. </p>
<p>There’s a bar on the edge of Purgatory that she’s only been acquainted with on noise complaint calls or to break up fights. It’s a ramshackle building, dilapidated and crumbling while the town drunks loiter on the steps. </p>
<p>The traps have been quiet all week and Rachel has proved competent with a shotgun, so she doesn’t feel too worried about taking one night away from the Homestead. And as much as she would have loved to stay in her sweatpants, she can’t drink away her problems in front of a seventeen year old who depends on her to be strong and in charge. </p>
<p>She can’t go to Shorty’s, not when the bar is warm with memories and the way Waverly’s eyes crinkle when she laughs. Besides, the saloon’s not even an option with the new clientele of government “officials” that have taken it over. </p>
<p>So she ends up here, way out at the bar with the sleazy name and even sleazier patrons, hands sticky from where they press against the bartop. The bartender takes one look at her and seems to realize she needs to get well and truly drunk, already sliding a double whiskey across the counter. </p>
<p>She nods her thanks and tips back half of it in one go, wincing at the burn in her throat and suddenly her eyes because it smells like Doc, all smoke and drink. He smelled comforting, she remembers, like when she used to sit on her grandfather’s lap and beg for a story and he would sigh and light a cigar and pull her close.</p>
<p>“Tough night?” The bartender smirks at her already empty glass and refills it.</p>
<p>“Tough year,” she answers and the girl must think she’s joking because she laughs loud and bright and her eyes don’t crinkle. </p>
<p>“Why don’t you tell me about it?” the bartender blushes and hastens to explain, “You’re the first non-regular in weeks and Johnny’s sea shanties get boring after the third round,” she gestures to the red faced man with a scraggly beard at the end of the bar.</p>
<p>She didn’t come here for conversation — the opposite in fact — and how do you explain to someone that your half-angel girlfriend, your demon hunter best friend and her baby daddy who also happens to be a vampire are in the literal Garden of Eden and maybe not coming back?  </p>
<p>So she shrugs and drinks her whiskey and orders a beer as a chaser. “I wouldn’t even know where to start,” she says truthfully. </p>
<p>She thinks there might be disappointment written on the woman’s face for a second before she nods and starts to turn away. </p>
<p>“Well, if you need anything, My name is Holly,” she busies herself wiping down glasses, breaking the conversation and granting an air of privacy.</p>
<p>Johnny’s warbling drifts down the stools and she clutches the neck of her bottle so hard she almost hears it crack in tune with his voice. His singing really is pathetic; there isn’t even an ocean within a hundred miles of here. She can already feel the tinge of the alcohol in her periphery and maybe <em> she’s </em> the pathetic one, drinking on a Tuesday in the middle of nowhere. </p>
<p>“I’m tired of being alone.” It slips out. It’s the first time she’s said it and honestly maybe even admitted it to herself and the girl — Holly — looks up. </p>
<p>She picks at the label of her beer, already regretting her loose tongue and smiles demurely, grateful when Holly seems to realize that’s all she’s going to offer. Holly leans closer, unbothered by the grimy bar and grins conspiratorially, “I’ve heard Johnny’s single, if you’re looking.”</p>
<p>She grimaces at that and it’s light and easy when Holly starts pointing out regulars along the dingy walls, rattling off drink orders and backstories. </p>
<p>She almost forgot what it’s like to talk to someone who isn’t a teenager for once, and she lets herself be lulled into the surface level conversation. She doesn’t dare mention Waverly or the rest of them. It’s too painful and she feels strangely protective of the idea of them. As if holding her girlfriend’s memory close to her chest will stop it from hurting so much. So she tells Holly about Calamity Jane and her hatred of men and how she’s a cat after her own heart. </p>
<p>She’s four drinks deeper and snickering at some joke when Holly taps the counter nervously. “I get off in an hour if you…?” Holly reaches out to trace over her wrist with a fingertip.</p>
<p>It doesn’t register for a moment around the haze in her head, and when it does she’s shoving back from the bar so quickly that she has to grapple for a hold on the cheap vinyl of her stool before it tips over. </p>
<p>“No! I — No,” she watches in abject horror as Holly flushes a bright red. “I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea,” she slurs and her head is spinning. </p>
<p>Holly’s not bad looking, objectively speaking, and she thinks maybe she would have entertained it were she single, or moving on. But she isn’t and she’s not and maybe she should be by now but she won’t <em> ever </em>stop looking. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” Holly stammers, confused because this reaction seems much more than a simple rejection. “I thought we had a — never mind.”</p>
<p>It’s embarrassing the speed at which she pays her bill and flees, tripping over the front steps on her way out. Her heart doesn’t stop racing all the way back to the Homestead — nothing happened but she feels dirty and raw all the same. She doesn’t want anyone to even <em> think </em> she’s interested, let alone anyone but Waverly to touch her like that. </p>
<p>Honestly, though, she doesn’t know if that will ever happen again. </p>
<p>When she gets home, she collapses on the mattress in the barn because she doesn’t have it in her to climb the mountain of stairs, but mostly because Rachel shouldn’t see her like this. She has to be the rock and Rachel can’t see her stumbling, her world on a tilt. So she passes out by herself for the umpteenth time. </p>
<p>She is so fucking <em> fed up </em>with this cold new normal. </p>
<p>The next morning, in the sun streaked panels of wood, there’s a glass of water and a few Advil nestled in the hay and she smiles around her pounding headache.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>4. </p>
<p>She goes to Margot Clanton. There are whisperings that you can get anything at Magpie Ranch for a price. She tries to ignore them (because she hasn’t given up, not yet) until the whisperings are more like a scream and she succumbs. It’s a sweeping scrapyard over acres of land that she has never seen before and that is enough to scare her. Sheriff Nicole Haught is (was?) intimately familiar with every inch of Purgatory, or so she thought. </p>
<p>She pushes forward because it’s not like she has another choice but she makes sure her gun is solid and secure at her hip. </p>
<p>She’s guided into a small building on the outskirts of the property by a greying woman and her grin is terrifying with a hint of sinister in it. She ignores it. It’s the Ghost River Triangle and everything has a hint of sinister in it anyways. </p>
<p>The situation is laid out in increasingly trembling breaths and Margot grows more gleeful as she goes on.</p>
<p>“I can’t wait any more. It’s been over a year,” her voice shakes. “Can you help?”</p>
<p>“I would very much like to, but the price is steep,” Margot taunts and her throat closes because this is her <em> last </em>hope. </p>
<p>Her eyes well up hard and fast and she’s given up trying to seem strong just like she’s given up on everything else. The self loathing presses hard against her sternum, forcing her to her knees. “I will do anything, <em> anything </em> to get her back.” </p>
<p>Most of all she just aches for Waverly.</p>
<p>“Even this?” And then Margot is leaning close and whispering a terrible, horrifying deal into her ear and she is so abandoned in this world that she agrees. </p>
<p><em> She can’t go on like this, </em>she justifies to herself and for now, it’s enough.</p>
<p>The glass jar is tucked away in the closet, far from Rachel’s curious eyes. She is determined to keep it that way, for Rachel to <em> never </em>know what she decided to do. </p>
<p>Margot’s laugh haunts her for weeks after, ringing in her ears. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>5. </p>
<p>Being around Waverly is the easiest and suddenly the hardest thing in the world. </p>
<p>They have a routine, her and Rachel, and she has not accounted for Wynonna’s slamming of doors and the clink of Doc’s gun when he cleans it. She’s jumpy and scared and she doesn’t know how to calm the anxiety within her. Waverly dutifully holds her hand while she triple-checks that all the doors are locked, but she knows that Waverly doesn’t, <em> can’t</em>, understand. </p>
<p>It’s so, so easy to slip back into Waverly, to always have a hand wrapped around her waist or shoulder. To let Waverly push her on her back and touch her until she’s writhing, begging for release. It’s a bonus that she doesn’t have to talk beyond gasping incoherently into the jut of Waverly’s collarbone. </p>
<p>Physical intimacy is never the problem. </p>
<p>Because even when Waverly is a solid warmth beside her, it’s still hard to sleep. She lies awake at night and wonders how someone tucked so close can feel so far away. When she does manage to close her eyes, it’s to images of Waverly and Wynonna walking out, disgusted at what she’s done to try to save them all, like she hasn’t already broken her own heart ten times over.  </p>
<p>She was never able to lie to Waverly before the Garden and she’s not <em>technically </em>lying now but she feels sick to her stomach every time she omits the truth, tiptoes around the proposal. Her friends got out on their own and she made a terrifying deal for nothing and so <em>what</em>, pray tell, was the fucking point of failing over and over for the last year and a half?</p>
<p>She doesn’t even know how to say I love you anymore. </p>
<p>A part of her is afraid that maybe Waverly won’t say it back. </p>
<p>She’s <em> different </em> and if Waverly notices she doesn’t comment, just holds her tighter at night. </p>
<p>---</p>
<p>When she attacks Wynonna in the barn and realizes she set the fire, she knows what she has to do.</p>
<p>Jeremy agrees with a harsh nod and honestly, the fact that he would willingly kill her, instantly makes up for his ghosting.</p>
<p>It’s time for her to fix things once and for all. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>+1.</p>
<p>After, she’s pulled back to the Homestead, waterlogged and shivering and alive. Waverly is <em> livid</em>, she can tell from the flare of her nostrils, but it’s shoved to the side in favor of bundling her up in an oversized hoodie and warm fuzzy socks and <em> God </em>does she love this woman.</p>
<p>She can barely talk her teeth are chattering so hard, but she knows by now they all know what she’s done, all know about the betrayal that sits heavy in her lungs. She wonders if they’ll ever forgive her or if they’ll just dump her at the gates of Magpie Ranch since she’s so friendly with the enemy.</p>
<p>She’s coaxed into bed and she doesn’t remember falling asleep but wakes to fingers carding through her hair in broad strokes. Her head is pillowed on Waverly’s stomach, feet dangling off the end of the broken footboard, and her head rises and falls with every breath.</p>
<p>It’s when she wraps her arms tighter around snug hips that Waverly realizes she’s awake.</p>
<p>“I am so mad at you, Nicole Haught,” she says but there’s a waver in her voice and her fingers tighten against the nape of her neck. </p>
<p>She doesn’t respond, just buries her face into the flat of Waverly’s tummy because maybe it’s her last chance to feel its warmth, cuddle into the curve of her body like her safe haven. </p>
<p>So she breathes and breathes and breathes. </p>
<p>“Sweetie?” Waverly sounds concerned and it propels the words out of her mouth.</p>
<p>“Do you still love me?” </p>
<p>There’s an intake of breath above her and the next thing she knows, Waverly has shuffled halfway down the bed to be eye to eye, slotting their hips together tight. Waverly looks bewildered and she is so, so scared because Waverly isn’t saying <em> anything</em>.</p>
<p><em> “Please.”</em> She adds and she doesn’t know what she’s asking for, only recognizes the way her words are tinged with vulnerability and she has to screw her eyes shut before she does something desperate like cry. </p>
<p>
  <em> Please love me through this.  </em>
</p>
<p>It’s the most exposed she thinks she’s ever been but Waverly’s always been good at reading between the lines of what she says. She can tell when it registers by the way Waverly says her name like a prayer. </p>
<p>Waverly hooks an ankle around hers, legs tangling together over the splintering wood, and strokes at the soft of her cheeks so carefully that she can’t help but turn into the touch, snuffle against her palm. </p>
<p>“Baby, look at me,” Waverly murmurs and when she does, Waverly is looking at her, quiet and calm. She tilts her chin with her thumb and pointer, forcing her to hold eye contact, before she continues softly, “I love you and I’m in love with you and that isn’t going to change.” </p>
<p>The air leaves her lungs in an inelegant breath that tickles Waverly on the way out and she revels in the way her girlfriend squirms, nose scrunching adorably. </p>
<p>But there’s more she has to discern because she has done terrible things for the people she loves and was fully prepared to lose them because of it. Her hands still shake and her chest is still tight and she needs to know, needs to ask, even if it will break her heart in the end.</p>
<p>“Do you want to marry me?”</p>
<p>“Of course I do.” Waverly fixes her with a hard stare, “But if you ever, <em> ever </em>do something like that again I will bring you back just to kill you myself, okay?” </p>
<p>She nods fervently because she knows it’s true and the fist wrapped around her heart loosens for the first time in almost two years. </p>
<p>So this is what it feels like to be free.</p>
<p>She kisses her then, soft and aching and something breaks open inside her when Waverly gasps and presses closer. Her world narrows to the gentle press of Waverly’s lips and the swipe of her tongue. There’s salvation in the way Waverly trails over her jaw, her hands warm along her spine.</p>
<p>This love feels holy. </p>
<p>The door slams open and she jumps, regretfully breaking the kiss. She can’t bring herself to pull away from Waverly’s hold. </p>
<p>Wynonna barrels into the room, not caring about interrupting as usual, but her face is hard and anxious. </p>
<p>“You <em>died?</em>”</p>
<p>The tone of Wynonna’s voice isn’t funny but she can’t help the way she bursts out laughing because yeah, she kind of did.</p>
<p>Waverly pulls her into the crook of her neck and giggles with her crinkly eyes and Wynonna just stares incredulously. </p>
<p>There is so much more to do but for now, in this tenderness of concern, she feels lighter than air.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>im on tumblr @ cosimuhs</p></blockquote></div></div>
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